


Howl it once more with feeling

by BarPurple



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Calling in a bet, Comedy, Dean's terrible singing, Drinking, Episode Related, Episode: s10e01 Black, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4526667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is running out of ways to curse the inventor of Karaoke, but at least he can share his pain with a few friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl it once more with feeling

Crowley sat at a table in a dim corner of the bar and once again cursed the moron who invented Karaoke. Howling at the moon with Dean was fun, but the singing that he could do without. Then again he didn’t have to suffer this on his own. The King of Hell stepped out into the warm night air to place a few calls, that fact that his cell phone was still on the table in the bar would not be a problem. 

Crowley waited rocking back and forth on his heels, unconsciously whistling under his breath. He smiled at the rustling sound behind him.

“Oh sweetheart. Where on Earth are we?”

“Hello Lorne. It’s been a while.”

The green skinned demon gave Crowley a white toothed grin, the flamboyant cut and colour of his suit made the night look dowdy, then again Lorne could make a chorus line in Vegas look dull.

“I thought you’d lost my rune Crowley. Love those threads on you, very sombre.”

“I’m the King of Hell Lorne, not a cabaret act.”

There was no bile in Crowley’s words; he honestly liked this member of the Deathwok Clan, there was something so very alive about the guy that you just couldn’t crush. Lorne brushed off Crowley’s words with a flick of his wrist.

“So what’s up sweet prince? You didn’t give me a chant just to bathe in the light my green beauty.”

“I’ll explain everything. We’re just waiting for Twinkle Toes to get here.”

Lorne actually clapped his hands with glee, just as a flash of smoke appeared to his left. The Lord of the Dance, The Heart of Swing or Sweet to his friends, rivalled Lorne for slick suits. At the moment he was clad in a zoot suit of deep blue satin, probably because it complimented his red skin so well. He looked at the other two and did a quick soft shoe that ended with a flourishing bow.

“Gentlemen. A pleasure to see you both as always. What’s the occasion?”

Lorne looked expectantly at Crowley who pulled his hands out of his coat pockets and gestured towards the bar.

“Do you recall that little bet we made; that we’ll never find a singer worse than that Gaulish Bard?

Lorne shuddered dramatically.

“That guy was a cacophony all on his own.”

“Lorne’s right Crowley. I still say the universe would only inflict someone that out of tune on the world once.”

Crowley grinned and started walking back to the bar.

“Wait till you hear this.”

With a shared shrug the two demons followed after the Brit in the dark suit. At the door Sweet danced in front of Crowley and barred the way with his arm.

“Are those of more colourful hues not going to raise eyebrows in here?”

The Heart of Swing was not one to back down from a fight, but there were rules to be observed and he knew Lorne wasn’t a fan of fighting. The green skinned man proved that point by saying;

“I’m more worried about raised fists than eyebrows. This isn’t exactly LA.”

Crowley stretched and slung an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Firstly you’re with me, so no one is going to dare say anything. Secondly the patrons of this fine establishment are so wasted they won’t believe what they are seeing.”

Not looking overly reassured the demons let themselves to be ushered into the dingy interior. Crowley had been right; the patrons of this bar had become used to some damn strange sights over the past few weeks. Green or red skin didn’t get more than one or two raised eyebrows and a whole lot of people looking blearily at their drinks wondering just how many they’d had before ordering another.

Seated at Crowley’s corner table Lorne and Sweet looked around with casual interest. Currently the stage was empty, but both had seen the karaoke machine so had a fair idea of where the action would be. Crowley saw Dean swaying his way back from the gents and head towards the stage. With a wave of his hand he conjured up a Cosmopolitan for Lorne and a whiskey sour for Sweet. He swirled his glass of Craig letting the smoky amber liquid catch the light.

“Gentleman. Pin your ears back. The worst singer in all creation is about to take the stage.”

Sweet and Lorne took a good, hard look at Dean.

“Hum, I smell power. Heaven’s power.”

“And I see a demon, a strong one. Who is this Crowley?”

The King of Hell swallowed his drink as he wagged his finger at his friends.

“Listen to him ‘sing’. Then I’ll give you the back story.”

The regulars near the stage groaned as Dean took the mike. The opening chords of Imaginary Lover began and one or two patrons made a hurried exit. Crowley braced himself as Dean opened his mouth to sing.

A lot happened during the first line of the song. Lorne spat his mouthful of Cosmo across the table as his face screwed up in agony. Sweet hissed and somehow managed to ignite his whisky sour. With a certain air of smugness Crowley whipped out his handkerchief and held it in front of the still spluttering Lorne and casually blew out Sweet’s flaming drink.

Crowley wondered just how bad Dean sounded to the supernaturally musical. Judging by the hissing and groaning coming from his drinking buddies the hunter’s howling was even worse to their ears than it was to his. By the time Dean was wrestled from the stage by some patrons who had had enough, Lorne and Sweet looked like they may explode.

Once the cheering at Dean’s ejection from the stage had died down the bar returned to a normal level of chatter, laughter and drinking. Before Crowley could say a word Lorne and Sweet each dropped a kitten shaped token on the table.

“I win the bet and you’re both giving me IOUs?”

Sweet gave Crowley a withering stare.

“In tailoring like this you don’t carry kittens.”

Lorne was still staring at Dean who was now slugging back a beer as the latest sap racked up the pool balls. Crowley nudged him with his elbow.

“What did you see Lorne?”

The green skinned demon faced Crowley and Sweet a haunted look deep in his red eyes. He swallowed nervously before he spoke.

“Nothing. Everything. That boy is a discord. Folks with a big destiny are in perfect tune with the music of the universe. That boy isn’t just a counter rhythm; he’s dancing to the beat of his own drums. He’s going to be terrific.”

Sweet shrugged uneasily and smoothed the lapels of his suit.

“Terrific sounds good Lorne.”

On slightly shaky legs Lorne rose from the table.

“Depends on how you use the word Sweet.”

With that cryptic comment Lorne walked out of the bar. Sweet’s raised eyebrows asked the question of Crowley that he wasn’t quite willing to voice. The King of Hell sighed.

“Terrific; that which begets terror.”

Sweet rose gracefully to his feet as he twirled towards the door he said over his shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing Crowley.”

Crowley slouched a little in his seat and fiddled with the kitten tokens. He wasn’t sure he could answer Sweet’s question and that worried him more than he cared to admit to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this was going to be a funny little piece.   
> For Chuck's Sake, why does everything I write nose dive into angst?


End file.
